


Intimidation Tactics

by solversonlou



Category: Fargo (TV)
Genre: Ballroom Dancing, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Frottage, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-03
Updated: 2017-07-03
Packaged: 2018-11-22 21:48:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 8,857
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11389092
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/solversonlou/pseuds/solversonlou
Summary: Varga wants Meemo and Yuri to intimidate Emmit at one of his many fancy parties. Meemo has to teach Yuri how to dance first, much to both their chagrins. The methods of intimidation that follow seem to go much further off course.





	Intimidation Tactics

"Mr. Stussy is going to hold a party this weekend," Varga informs them one evening, sat in the office chair at the empty table in the truck. 

 

Meemo and Yuri, sat on their respective bunks, look up at him in mild interest, awaiting whatever instructions he has for them both.

 

"I'll need you two there for intimidation," Varga explains, picking at his teeth in that way that makes them both uncomfortable. He looks between the two of them, frowning when his eyes land on Yuri on the top bunk, who looks considerably more disheveled than Meemo. "I'll be bringing the tailor in for you, Yuri. He already has Meemo's measurements from our little IRS meeting."

 

Yuri shifts on his bunk, legs swinging over the edge where the ladder is. (He's learnt to do that after almost kicking Meemo in the face whilst jumping off and the resulting punch in the chest Meemo had given him.) "I am not good at parties."

 

Varga exhales sharply, ignores him as he looks at Meemo, who rolls his eyes at Yuri's protest. "You can dance, can't you, Meemo?"

 

Meemo shrugs, entirely unfazed by the fact that Varga is aware of this. He nods, crosses his ankle at his knee. "Yes."

 

"Excellent," Varga claps his hands together, leaning forward with a smile. "You can teach our reluctant friend here, assuming you know ballroom."

 

Meemo nods, blinking at Varga wordlessly, as Yuri leaps off the top bunk and jabs a finger at him. 

 

"No. I do not dance," Yuri protests, digging his hands back in his pockets when Varga stands up, tilting his head at him. Backing down a little, Yuri's voice lowers to a tense tone. "I... I can't dance. I'm not good at it."

 

"Which is why Meemo will teach you," Varga nods his head towards Meemo, looks back up at Yuri with his eyebrows drawn together and a perplexed, yet amused smile on his lips. It's terrifying. "You're making this entirely more difficult than it needs be."

 

Yuri swallows, fists clenching around the material of his inner pockets. Letting out a short breath, he nods. "Fine. Yes. Of course."

 

Meemo, still wordless as he sits on his bunk, scrolling through his phone, doesn't look up at Yuri's unhappy expression as Varga smiles between the two of them.

 

"Good," Varga says. "Oh, by the way, I shan't be hiring you dates."

 

Meemo looks up then, frowns. "Why do I need to teach him then?"

 

The corner of Varga's mouth pull down as his eyebrows raise. "In case somebody asks you?"

 

Meemo doesn't even know why he suggests this. It's not as if he wants to teach Yuri in the first place, knowing how insufferable he's going to be about it. "We could dance together. It might intimidate people."

 

Yuri looks at him with such malice that Meemo almost regrets suggesting it. He's not scared of Yuri, not in the slightest. In fact, their weird dynamic has resulted in him knowing that he could easily take Yuri out if needs be. 

 

"That may just work even better," Varga says, nodding as he stares at the floor for a moment. Looking up, he gives them both a smile. "Well, I'm off. You best get to it. The tailor will be here later."

 

As Varga bids them goodbye and steps out of the truck, Meemo and Yuri both remain silent until the door closes behind him. 

 

It's then that Yuri turns to Meemo, glowering, "I am _not_ dancing with you."

 

"You think I want to?" Meemo frowns, stands up, attempting to shoulder by the taller man, who stops him with a hand grabbing his shoulder. Meemo looks between the hand and Yuri's unamused face. Slowly, he speaks, holding Yuri's intense gaze. "It's just a job."

 

Yuri lets go of Meemo's shoulder, the annoyance bubbling away under his surface subsiding a little as he exhales. He steps back, considering it for a short moment. "Fine, but I will not hesitate to knock you out if you test me."

 

"As if I'd be testing _your_ patience," Meemo shakes his head, turning to walk towards the bathroom. "Take off your jacket... and your shoes. I'm not having you step on my feet."

 

\- - -

 

"Why am I the woman?" Yuri asks, features set into a frown. Meemo has just instructed him to take his hand so he can lead, and Yuri had immediately responded by shifting uncomfortably on his feet and refusing to do so. 

 

Staring at him for a moment, Meemo blinks, "Are you joking?"

 

"No," Yuri folds his arms across his chest, feeling too bare in just a t-shirt. It's not as if he hasn't walked around the truck in just a towel after showering before, Meemo having seen basically everything. "I do not understand why I'm the woman. I'm bigger than you."

 

"So?" Meemo shakes his head in disbelief, hands balled at his sides to stop himself from throttling him. There are rare times where the two of them get along, then there are times like these. "I know how to dance. You don't."

 

"Yes, but..." Yuri gestures his hand towards Meemo. "The dips."

 

Meemo narrows his eyes in thought, considering what he means. He frowns when he realises it. "There is... no way I am letting you dip me."

 

"Well it makes more sense," Yuri says, tugging away from Meemo when he tries to reach for his hand. "No. I am not being the woman."

 

"We're both men," Meemo sighs, tone a little more impatient than his usual monotonous speech. He looks up at Yuri, catches his stubborn eye. "Nobody is dipping anybody. We are going to do a basic foxtrot. I am going to lead."

 

There's something about Meemo that always gets to Yuri, digs under his skin, his defenses lowering a little when he realises there's no way he's going to win this fight. Sighing, he uncrosses his arms and mumbles something that sounds like a confirmation in Russian.

 

Meemo takes Yuri's hand in his own, trying not to think about how weirdly intimate the entire situation is. They're used to playful shoves and kicks, the occasional brushing of shoulders when they stand too close, but nothing like this.

 

"Put your other hand on my arm," Meemo instructs, and Yuri reluctantly clasps his hand around Meemo's forearm. "My bicep, you idiot."

 

"Shut up," Yuri moves his hand up Meemo's arm, fingers warm despite the chilled air of the unheated truck. He shifts on his feet, standing with his shoulders and arms stiff as boards. "Now what?"

 

Meemo's palm finds its place under Yuri's shoulder blade, the height difference making it more difficult for them to get into a more traditional position, but there's no way he's letting Yuri take the lead. Meemo's voice is usually unsettling, emotionless, but to Yuri it somehow helps. "Relax. You're stiff."

 

Shoulders sinking, Yuri's muscles relax a little under Meemo's guidance. He's still entirely uncomfortable with the whole situation, face hot as Meemo looks from where his feet are together on the ground, up to Yuri's look of discomfort. 

 

"Put your feet together like mine," Meemo tells him, nudging one of Yuri's sock-clad feet with his own. Yuri jerks his foot away quickly, places them together. "Ok, now as I forward, you're going to step back. I'll count so you can keep up."

 

The first attempt at a foxtrot does not go well. 

 

"If you step on me one more time, I'm going to cut your feet off," Meemo warns, fingernails digging a warning into Yuri's shoulder. "Why can't you keep up with this?"

 

"There's too many steps!" Yuri pulls away from him, runs a hand through his mop of unkempt hair. Meemo makes a mental note to get him to do something about that before they arrive at the party. He looks a fucking state. 

 

"There are four steps," Meemo corrects him, moving to grab Yuri's wrist between his fingers. Yuri's pulse thrums beneath his skin, and Meemo wonders just how much is that is from the frustration, the dancing, or something else. "Is the counting confusing you?"

 

"Everything is," Yuri doesn't pull away from Meemo's grip this time, despite somewhat wanting to. He lets him place their arms back into the position they were in before, looks down at their feet. 

 

"The counting is the beat, not the amount of steps," Meemo explains, demonstrating with his own feet and counting in Russian. He looks up at Yuri. "Do you understand now?"

 

Yuri nods, despite still being unsure. "I suppose. It's easier in Russian."

 

"I don't understand why we don't talk in Russian more often," Meemo shakes his head, returns to their positions. 

 

"Because you barely talk," Yuri reminds him, and Meemo has to agree. 

 

They have spoken, many times over the years. It's just usually Yuri rambling on about his home country and Meemo listening, though. Meemo will insult him, whether jokingly or not, talk to him about their work, tell him fragments of his life before Varga, but he'd rather keep most of his thoughts to himself. 

 

Yuri's lips stretch into a smile when Meemo meets his eye again, and it stirs something in him, like it always does. "I like when you speak. It reminds me that I am not working with a robot, even if he sounds like one."

 

"Shut up," Meemo frowns, heat prickling his neck at Yuri's weird show of comradery. He can never quite understand what the hell sort of relationship it is that they have. He can never tell if he wants to strangle him or do something else. "Come on. Start again."

 

\- - -

 

Within an hour or so, Yuri manages to grasp a basic foxtrot, despite his insistent complaining and blaming of Meemo whenever he happens to make a mistake.

 

Meemo had reiterated that it wasn't his fault because _again_ , he knew how to dance, it was Yuri who didn't.

 

"How?" Yuri asks him when he's finally gotten a grip on it. He wipes his warm, slightly sweat damp hand on the knee of his tracksuit bottoms after he lets go of Meemo's hand.

 

Meemo rolls his wrists nonchalantly, stretches his arms out from where they'd been aching from clinging onto Yuri's shoulders. He hadn't considered that perhaps taking the lead would make it more difficult on account of their heights. "How what?"

 

"How do you know how to dance?" Yuri barely asks him about his past, unless it naturally comes up in a conversation about Yuri's insane, violence fueled childhood in Russia. "As a child, we never danced. Dancing was for pussies."

 

Meemo frowns as he moves into a lunging stretch and Yuri watches him with mild attention, his eyes shifting to the strong muscles of Meemo's legs, up the curve of his thighs. "Lessons. Ballet. Ballroom. My parents were rich."

 

Yuri looks away quickly when Meemo looks up at him, turning his attention to a fray on his t-shirt. He sounds surprised when he speaks, pressing for more information. "Why do you work here, if your parents are rich?"

 

" _Were_ rich," Meemo corrects him, standing up straight again. He gestures at Yuri for him to step towards him. 

 

Yuri's eyes widen a little when he feels the weight of Meemo's hand, warm on the small of his back as he pulls him closer. Swallowing around the lump in his throat, Yuri presses the questioning further. "Bankruptcy?"

 

Meemo doesn't know why exactly Yuri cares so much about his past. He wants to just carry on with this and get it over with. The tailor should be arriving soon. He figures answering honestly will be easier. The chuckle that leaves him is a bit of an oddity to Yuri, who isn't used to hearing that sound come out of him. (He's used to smirks and smugness, but not laughter.) "No... I killed them."

 

Yuri's heart jumps to his throat as he processes Meemo's words. He isn't sure what to say. If murdering your own girlfriend was inhumane, this was something else. Yuri swallows, slowly realising the feelings of excitement occurring inside of him. 

 

He laughs. For some god awful, twisted reason, Yuri laughs, and Meemo just smiles up at him, hand lowering on Yuri's waist. "Simple tango is next."

 

\- - - 

 

Yuri is fresh out of the shower when the tailor arrives, the same greying, older man from before, who doesn't speak much and reminds them both of a funeral director more than a tailor.

 

Meemo hovers, laid out on the lower bunk with a book in his hands as the man takes Yuri's measurements, occasionally glancing over to the scene in mild amusement at how stiff and awkward Yuri looks, standing in a t-shirt and a pair of tighter jogging bottoms to make things easier for the tailor. (Meemo had told him to just wear underwear, a t-shirt and boxers at most, but Yuri had refused his advice, of course. Plus, Yuri remembers spending Meemo's entire fitting with his eyes fixed on the wall to stop himself from looking at the curve of Meemo's ass and the hard lines of his torso.)

 

"What side do you dress?" The tailor asks from his position knelt on the floor, getting the measuring tape ready.

 

Yuri blinks down at him, confused. "What?"

 

Meemo lifts his eyes from his book, interrupts the tailor in Russian before he manages to ask again. "When you get dressed, do you let your dick lay on the left or right?"

 

Yuri's skin prickles with heat as he twists his head over his shoulder to look at Meemo, who smirks at him in a way that burns even more. He turns back to the tailor, mumbles. "Left? I don't know. It just goes wherever."

 

There's a snort of a laugh from behind him, and Yuri thinks that he should punch Meemo in the back of the head. Instead, he calls him a _motherfucker_ in Russian, and tries to stand still for the tailor.

 

The tailor finishes up pretty quickly, gathering his things before leaving just as Varga returns through the door of the truck. 

 

"Ah, we're all done here then?" Varga pats the tailor on the arm, a goodbye gesture, before turning his attention to Yuri and Meemo. "Did you manage to teach our friend here some moves?"

 

Varga does a little shuffle to emphasize his words and it's one of the most unsettling things Yuri and Meemo have ever seen him do.

 

"Yes," Yuri says as he pulls a packet of cigarettes out of his pocket. "He is a surprisingly good teacher."

 

Meemo can't help the smile that plays on his lips, but he hides it quickly when Varga raises his eyebrows at the two of them, digging his hands into his coat pockets. Sitting up, Meemo swings his legs over the side of his bunk. "Is there anything else we need to do?"

 

Varga considers things for a second, swaying on his feet as he thinks. "Not really. Just keep practicing and remember to keep an eye on Emmit. Obviously, things can't seem too out of place, but try to have a bit of fun with him and his fat, pretentious lot of guests. Can't have them being too comfortable, can we?"

 

The sheer delight in Varga's voice after the venom is a lot, to say the least, but Meemo and Yuri have grown used to their boss's behaviour by now.

 

They nod in agreement, and Varga returns to the computer set up. 

 

\- - -

 

The next few days are uneventful besides from Meemo teaching Yuri a few new steps, whether that be in the truck or occasionally in the parking lot whenever Varga grows tired of their bickering while he's trying to work.

 

The Stussy employees who come and go in their cars, stare oddly at the two of them, but they usually hurry away when Meemo and Yuri glower at them mid-dance.

 

Surprisingly, the bickering becomes less frequent, and Yuri actually shuts up and listens to Meemo's instructions, much to Meemo's relief. He hadn't thought that Yuri would be competent at this, but he actually is.

 

The day before the party, Yuri places a hand on the small of Meemo's back and grins down at him. "Let me lead."

 

Meemo, although happy with Yuri's progress, won't allow that to happen. He grabs Yuri's hand, guides it to his shoulders, and returns to their previous positions. "I'm still the expert here."

\- - -

It doesn't take long for Meemo to get ready, slipping on his tuxedo after a shower and styling his hair into a slicked back look, not as harsh as it had looked when he intimidated the IRS guy, but tidy nonetheless. He studies himself in the bathroom mirror briefly, straightening his maroon bow tie before stepping out to find Yuri standing by the door, waiting to use the bathroom after him.

 

Yuri stops in his tracks, caught off guard by the sight of Meemo before him. 

 

Raising an eyebrow, Meemo speaks, "What?"

 

Swallowing, Yuri shakes his head and steps back, letting Meemo get into the room. He watches him move across the truck, towards the bunks, eyes casting over the sharp lines of his suit, the way it fits him perfectly. Frowning, Yuri wonders if he's going to look a mess in comparison.

 

"Hurry up," Meemo says, pulling his phone out from under his pillow and placing his earbuds in. "We don't have all day."

 

Fifteen minutes later, Yuri comes out of the bathroom, and when Meemo looks up at him, he actually laughs.

 

"What?" Yuri frowns, standing with his hair still damp and shirt untucked, bow tie crooked around his neck. "What's so funny?"

 

"You look... a mess," Meemo suppresses another laugh, lips stretched into a thin smile instead. He makes his way towards Yuri, stopping before him and reaching a hand out that Yuri dodges away from. Meemo's brows draw together, a small frown. "At least you shaved, I guess. Let me do your hair. You look like a wet dog."

 

"Shut up," Yuri mutters, sighing in defeat. Meemo isn't wrong, he does look messy, but it's not as if Meemo has complained before about Yuri walking around the truck, still damp from a shower. "Ok. You can do me."

 

Meemo blinks up at him slowly. "Excuse me?"

 

"Hair," Yuri gestures towards his head. "Do it for me."

 

Meemo narrows his eyes at him in thought, before gesturing for him to sit down on the office chair. Grabbing a towel, a comb and his bottle of hair product from the bathroom, Meemo tells Yuri to sit still as he gets to work.

 

Yuri isn't happy about how hard Meemo rubs the towel over his head, or how Meemo comments on how much nicer his hair looks when it's actually washed. (Yuri actually flushes warm at the backhanded compliment, but he blames it on the remaining heat from the shower. ) 

 

Meemo smooths some product onto his palm and moves to stand before Yuri, fingers scraping through his fringe, pushing it up and away from his forehead. 

 

Yuri's eyes widen at the press of Meemo's fingers in his hair, before looking down at his feet to stop Meemo from noticing the way his cheeks are burning at the contact.

Meemo's fingers slow in his hair, rest at his scalp for a moment, and when Yuri looks up in an unasked question, he sees the cogs turning in Meemo's head. Yuri looks... good. The lines in his face are softer, and Meemo is taken aback by how he almost looks handsome like this. Not entirely different, but... normal, almost. Meemo swallows, drawing his hand away from Yuri's head and wiping it on the towel. "You're done."

 

Yuri tilts his head up, a grin cracking across his features. "Do I look handsome?"

 

Meemo throws him an unamused look, the thrum of his pulse under his skin an argument to his own words. "That's impossible. But you do look better."

 

Yuri frowns, standing up and moving towards the bathroom to look at his reflection as Meemo busies himself with tidying up, trying not to think about the fact that he may or may not be attracted to Yuri, of all fucking people. 

 

What he hears from the bathroom, can't help but put a small, amused smile on his face. "You made me look like a fancy man. I look queer."

 

When Yuri comes back out of the bathroom, Meemo tosses him something that he catches with ease. 

 

"Put that on," Meemo instructs as Yuri inspects it. It's a silver ring, similar to a wedding band. "It'll add to the image."

 

Yuri frowns in mild confusion, but slips it on his ring finger regardless.

 

\- - - 

 

On the drive over, Meemo can't help but glance in the overhead mirror at Yuri every so often. He tells him to stop leaning on the window at one point, saying he'll mess up his hair, and Yuri responds by blowing air out of his lips and shifting, like an annoyed toddler being told off.

 

If Yuri chances a look every so often in Meemo's direction, neither of them mention it.

 

The valet is visibly scared of them as soon as they step out of the car, her eyes widening when Yuri manages to hand her the keys in a way that can only be described as aggressive. 

 

Meemo doesn't apologise for him, just gives the girl a tight lipped, unsettling smile as she mumbles something about enjoying the party and quickly climbs into their car before driving off.

 

The guy at the door isn't too pleased to see them either, confused as to why his employer would invite them. He scans the list of guests when Meemo gives him their fake names, avoiding eye contact as much as he can, nodding quickly and stepping aside to let them in when he locates them on the list.

 

Emmit's house is bigger than any house either of them had seen or been in before, its hallway massive, even with the amount of guests scattered around. An ice sculpture sits in the middle of the room, a large swan that Yuri whistles at when he notices it, nudging Meemo's shoulder with his own and pointing towards it.

 

Rolling his eyes, Meemo scans the room, looking for the subject of their intimidation. Spotting Emmit standing with Sy and a few associates, Meemo shoulders by a few guests, politely apologising as Yuri follows behind him, shuffling along.

 

"Mr. Stussy," Meemo flashes his teeth at the man, whose eyes widen at the sight of them both, dread crossing over his suddenly paler face. "It's such a pleasure to see you again."

 

Taking Emmit's stiff hand in his own, Meemo shakes it firmly as Yuri stands behind him, expressionless with his hands dug in his pockets. "You remember my partner, Mr. Jones?"

 

Meemo nudges Yuri in the front with his elbow, his cue to step forward and take Emmit's hand to shake. 

 

The faux grin that plasters across Emmit's face, combined with the overly enthusiastic nod, is a clear indicator that their presence has shaken him, nervous at the fact that they're around his business partners and family friends. He plunders on, regardless, accepting Yuri's handshake with an underlying confusion. "Yes, of course! Nice to see you again, Mr..."

 

"Jones," Yuri repeats, unable to disguise his thick accent regardless of how hard he tries. He places a hand on Emmit's arm, squeezes it gently. "We're very glad to be here and finally meet your... lovely family."

 

Emmit's wife, although a little confused at the fact that she's never heard of these two before, is intrigued, accepting Yuri's hand as he turns to her. 

 

Meemo gives an uneasy looking Sy a wink, and Sy's stomach drops at it.

 

"You must be Emmit's daughter," Yuri lays on the faux compliments, and Emmit's wife chuckles, eating it up. 

 

"Oh, heaven's no," she blushes, shaking his hand. "I'm his wife."

 

"Well, you certainly don't look old enough," Meemo interjects with a smile, exchanging agreeing, false nods with Yuri.

 

"Oh, you fellas are far too sweet," Mrs. Stussy turns to her husband, linking their arms together. "Emmit, you never told me about Mr. Jones and Mr...?"

 

"Jones," Meemo says, circling an arm around Yuri's waist. Yuri tenses at the contact, flushing warm at the weight of Meemo's hand on his hip. "I changed my name to his last year. We may not be able to get married yet, but the names and rings will do for now."

 

Suddenly it all clicks: the insistence that he wore the ring and Meemo suggesting that they dance together. He really was going down that route. 

 

Yuri doesn't know whether he likes the idea or not, slightly uncomfortable at the shift in the atmosphere as other guests give them odd glances, and Mrs. Stussy's smile falters a little.

 

Not that he cares about what they think. He knows he could take any of them down in a second.

 

"Well, that's..." Emmit smiles painfully, looking at Sy with a mutual uneasiness at the bizarreness of the situation. He doesn't know what the shit these two are up to, yet again. "That's certainly something, isn't it?"

 

"Yes," Meemo's grin drops into a small, almost threatening smile. Luckily, Mrs. Stussy doesn't notice it. "It is."

 

Emmit makes an excuse to his wife that she should go mingle with some other guests, claiming that he has business to discuss with his _'associates'_.She bids them both goodbye with a sweet smile, and goes off to meander with others.

 _The shift in Emmit's face from fake niceness to defense is immediate, voice lowering as he steps towards Meemo and Yuri, Sy looking on with an unchanged, scared expression. "Look, I don't know what the hell it is that Varga has got you up to, but you do_ not come in here to intimidate my wife."

 

Sy opens his mouth to tell Emmit to calm down and leave it, not wanting any trouble, but Yuri silences him with a hand in the air as Meemo pulls away from him and steps closer to Emmit, chin cocked up. 

 

"We're just here for the party," Meemo says, voice an octave lower than it had been when talking to them beforehand. He holds Emmit's eye for a long moment, before recognising the fear returning in his face as Emmit backs down and away. 

 

Smiling again, Meemo takes Yuri's wrist between his fingers and speaks to Emmit and Sy in that same cheery tone from before. "Lovely party. We can't wait to meet your other guests."

 

Yuri is too distracted by Meemo leading him away to give Sy and Emmit an intimidating look, but the two of them seem to be threatened enough by Meemo's words and their presence alone. 

 

"What was that?" Yuri mumbles as he's lead away, towards the flock of rich, well to do people, standing around talking about nothing and everything. He stares at the fingers clasped around his wrist, skin prickling with heat at the contact. 

 

"Intimidation," Meemo tells him, stopping before a waiter holding a tray of hors d'oeuvre. He takes a couple of prawn vol-au-vents from him and offers one to Yuri, who simply frowns at him as Meemo shrugs and eats one.

 

Sighing, Yuri looks out onto the crowd of people around them, feeling out of place. He's usually in his element intimidating the rich, but this entire situation is too odd for him. He feels too restrained by the cumberband around his waist and the bow tie around his throat. 

 

Not to mention he can't stop thinking about the fact that Meemo's idea had been to pretend they were a fucking couple, of all things. Not business partners, but a fucking couple. 

 

"But why gays?" Yuri asks, and Meemo almost inhales a prawn, amused at Yuri's choice of words and discomfort with his plan. 

 

"Because," Meemo turns to face him, sucking a crumb off of his own thumb as he smiles up at him. His other hand holds onto the lapel of Yuri's jacket, pulling him closer as Yuri's face flushes red hot. His voice is low as he cranes his neck up, aware of the dozens of eyes now focused on the two of them. "It frightens them."

 

Yuri swallows, gaze shifting towards the people around them before landing back on Meemo, who presses the thumb that'd been on his own lips to Yuri's jawline, cupping his cheek. 

 

Yuri murmurs in Russian, a warning for Meemo to get his hand off him before he cuts it off, his cheek burning beneath Meemo's fingers.

 

Meemo draws away, still smirking as he looks around them. He leans into Yuri, arm bumping against his front as he lowers his voice. "Remember those moves I taught you. I think the band are arriving."

 

\- - - 

 

Emmit watches them from a distance, a frown on his features as he hides his face behind a glass of champagne. 

 

Sy is mostly quiet, not responding much to Emmit's ramblings of how inappropriate it was for Varga to send them. He's still shaken from the whole drink-from-the-cup incident and witnessing them beat the shit out of Nikki Swango.

 

As the orchestral band finishes setting up, Emmit moves to the stairs to announce their presence. The guests flock around as Emmit encourages them to dance, thanking the band and its conductor for their arrival.

 

Yuri wonders briefly if he can escape and avoid dancing with Meemo, who seems to be looking forward to the whole ordeal, flashing him the occasional smile as Yuri pretends to listen to old men in far too expensive tuxes talk about finances and what-not.

 

Meemo excuses himself from an older couple, who've been asking him about exactly what kind of line of business he's in for the past twenty minutes.

 

Yuri almost jumps when he feels a hand on his bicep, but he recognises the source of it immediately, turning to look at Meemo, who looks up at him with that same smile he's been wearing all night. It's unsettling. Yuri can never quite tell if it's genuine or not. Meemo tends to have that effect on him, their relationship being a back and forth bickering, peppered with moments where Yuri questions whether they're both being serious or not. He frowns, shifting on his feet, "I don't want to dance."

 

"Yes you do," Meemo says firmly, through a gritted smile. He steps closer, slides his hand down Yuri's arm, clasping his warm hand between his fingers. "I spent hours teaching you. If you let that go to waste, I will stab you in front of these rich assholes."

 

It's an empty threat, and Yuri knows it, but he gives into it for some reason that is beyond his own grasp. Sighing, he falls into the moves that Meemo had taught him, letting the shorter man take the lead with no complaints this time.

 

"Stop looking like you want to die," Meemo whispers as the music starts up, a generic, classical piece that suits their basic dancing just fine. He places a hand on Yuri's back, cupping his shoulder blade as they step together, Yuri surprisingly doing it quite well.

 

A false grin cracks across Yuri's face, his fingers squeezing around Meemo's hand as pairs of eyes draw their attention towards the two of them. He hears a disapproving murmur of: _"Is that necessary?"_ from another guest, and a flood of hot shame runs through him.

 

Meemo can tell, his hand that's gripping Yuri's back pulling him closer, drawing his attention back towards him. His smile softens, eyes dark as he looks up at him, murmurs. "Relax. Focus on me."

 

Exhaling, Yuri tries to remember how to breathe. It's difficult when there's a flurry of conflicting emotions stirring within him, anger bubbling towards the guests, towards Meemo and this stupid party, towards himself for getting worked up.

 

The song seems to last forever, Meemo growing ever closer with that same dark look in his usually dead eyes. It's the sort of look he gave Yuri back in the truck, after doing his hair for him, and days before that, during one of their waltzes in the parking lot at night. 

 

Yuri doesn't know what to do, his eyes shifting between their feet and Meemo's features, the soft curve of his lips when he smiles at him. He hates it. Or he doesn't. He doesn't know.

 

It's only when Meemo's fingers drop to his lower back, edging dangerously low, does Yuri pull away. He shoves Meemo almost forcefully away from him, enough to cause a flurry of whispers around them. 

 

Meemo frowns at him, as if to say: _"You're making the wrong sort of scene."_ His fingers clench at his sides as he watches Yuri work himself up into a fluster, like he wasn't a fourty two year old man, but a teenage girl, or something. Meemo isn't impressed.

The song is almost over now, and Meemo knows it, so he tries to recover their image by taking Yuri's hand again and pulling him back into the dance. 

 

Yuri reluctantly follows, frowning as Meemo forces a smile at their fellow guests. He leaves his hand on Yuri's shoulder this time, finishing up the dance as the song draws to close and the guests around them break off to applaud.

 

Meemo pulls away from Yuri, turning to clap for the band alongside the rest of the guests, making an offhand compliment to a woman next to him about how good the band were.

 

Turning back towards Yuri, Meemo gives his arm a quick squeeze, keeping up appearances as he leans in, "Stop being an asshole."

 

Yuri's blood rushes hot, lips tugging into a scowl as Meemo turns to a waiter and asks them where the bathroom is before disappearing through the crowd. 

 

A woman steps towards Yuri, opening her mouth to ask him something. He interjects her with a sharp: _"fuck off,"_ ignoring the offended look on her face and the way she walks away, muttering her disapproval. 

 

Yuri hovers there for what feels like minutes, but is only a short while, stewing over what had just happened. He can't stop focusing on it, Meemo's hand on his back and that look in his eyes. What the fuck sort of game was he playing?

 

Finding the same waiter Meemo had just spoken to, he grabs the man by his collar and asks him firmly where Meemo had gone. Wide eyed and frightened, the waiter tells him the third door on the right down the hall, and Yuri storms off like a man on a mission, fists clenched at his sides. 

 

Shouldering by a concerned and annoyed looking Emmit, Yuri ignores his questioning as he makes his way down the hall. 

 

He's going to get some answers.

 

\- - - 

 

Meemo looks up briefly at the mirror as the door knob to the bathroom rattles behind him. Letting out a small sigh, he figures who it is immediately as he wipes his wet hands on one of the embroidered towels that he's sure are for decoration only.

 

He isn't surprised at all to see Yuri standing there when he unlocks the door, eyebrows drawn together and lips pulled into a frown. Meemo looks at him wordlessly, waiting for something, before Yuri steps into the bathroom and pushes him backwards, a palm flat against his chest.

 

"What the hell are you doing?" Yuri questions, kicking the door shut behind him with the heel of his dress shoes that are far too uncomfortable. He drops a hand to his side, searches Meemo's unchanging expression for an answer.

 

"I could ask you the same question," Meemo says, voice monotonous as he looks up at him. He's been pushed so far into the bathroom his palms are brushing the sink behind him. 

 

Yuri tries to form a response, but can't seem to muster one up. Suddenly he's aware of the proximity of the two of them, stepping back as he drops his gaze to the tile floor. Letting out a long breath, he mutters. "The job was intimidation."

 

"Which is what we did," Meemo says, tilting his head. He scans Yuri's tense stance, the way his fingers are flexing at his sides. Wetting his dry lips, Meemo meets his eye again. "It's not my fault you're an asshole."

 

Yuri's eyes flash with anger again. He moves forward, shoulders hunching as he hisses. "I'm not the asshole! You're the one molesting me."

 

The smirk that crosses Meemo's lips does nothing but anger Yuri even further. Meemo tilts his head, neck craning forward, leaning ever closer into Yuri's space as he speaks, low and quiet. "You're insane."

 

Yuri doesn't process what's happening at first, routed to the spot in a combination of frustration and anticipation as Meemo closes the gap between them, pressing a small, chaste kiss to Yuri's bottom lip.

 

Leaning back, Meemo takes in the softening lines of Yuri's face, awaiting his reaction. Realisation seems to register on Yuri's features, gaze dragging to Meemo's lips then back up to his eyes again, mouth parted as if trying to figure out what to say.

 

Yuri remains wordless, however, eyes sliding shut as he feels the press of Meemo's fingers, warm as they wrap loosely around his neck, thumb brushing above the collar of his dress shirt, across the thrum of his pulse.

 

He should shove him away. He should punch him in the face and spill his blood on the white porcelain of Emmit's sink. 

 

He should, but he doesn't.

 

Instead, he lets Meemo kiss him again, neck craning down to meet him in the middle. 

 

Meemo kisses him with such an odd intimacy, mouthing at the seam of his lips in an almost delicate manner. The fingers wrapped around Yuri's throat should be a threat, but they're not, somehow. Instead they pull him closer, until their bodies are aligned, Yuri's hips pressed against Meemo's stomach. 

 

Yuri's slow moving hands press to Meemo's waist, lips parting as Meemo's tongue runs across the them, the pace picking up as his fingers bunch in the material of Meemo's tux jacket. 

 

The fingers of Meemo's left hand move to Yuri's hip, his own hips rocking into him as hot blood rushes through his skin, creeping down further still. 

 

It's slow and fast all at once, Yuri's hands pushing Meemo's jacket open, untucking his shirt from his slacks, calloused fingers sliding across the toned, warm flesh of Meemo's stomach. 

 

The hand on Yuri's hip drags towards the button of his slacks, Meemo popping open the material with seeming ease. 

 

Yuri rolls his hips into the touch, Meemo's heated palm pressing against the slowly hardening outline of his cock through his boxers.

 

A small groan leaves the back of Yuri's throat, vibrates against Meemo's tongue before they break the kiss, Meemo's hand still at his throat as they both remember to breathe.

 

Meemo sinks onto the balls of his feet, neck dropping as he steadies himself against Yuri, head bowing towards the ground. 

 

Yuri's lips brush against the top of Meemo's head, his hands still gripping his hips, somehow too timid to touch him the way Meemo was doing to him.

 

The smile on Meemo's lips stirs something within Yuri as Meemo meets his eye again, pupils dark and hand dropping from his throat. "Not in here."

 

Yuri frowns at him, confused. "Do you not want to?"

 

Meemo's fingers circle one of Yuri's wrists, pulling it down from his hip, towards the front of his slacks. Yuri inhales sharply when he feels the weight of Meemo's cock, hard and heavy under his palm, though the now too tight material of his slacks. 

 

Craning his neck up, Meemo smirks, voice low. "We came here to intimidate Emmit."

 

Yuri's own cock twitches in his slacks, Meemo's baritone stirring through him. He licks his lips, still tasting Meemo on them, "Yes."

 

"We're going to find his room," Meemo says, a hint of amusement in his voice. "And let him know we were here."

 

Nodding, Yuri slowly takes Meemo's words in before he kisses him again, teeth tugging at his bottom lip, fingers squeezing around him.

 

\- - - 

 

Emmit's bedroom is surprisingly easy to find, the two of them slipping by the other guests, shirts and suits haphazardly tucked in.

 

They can hear Emmit's voice down the hall, in his office, complaining to Sy about how god awful the party is going.

 

"It's about to get worse," Yuri mumbles, following Meemo down the hallway, checking every room along the way. They're mostly bathrooms or libraries, small sitting areas and what-not.

 

When they finally find Emmit's room, they can tell it's his by the big, modern bed and the photos on the bedside tables. Sat on the left side is a book and a pair of reading glasses, presumingly belonging to his wife, and on the right is a framed stamp, presumingly belonging to Emmit.

 

Yuri presses Meemo against the door as soon as they enter the room, fingers grabbing the lapels of his jacket, crushing their mouths together.

 

Meemo doesn't let him take the lead for long, pushing against him with a strength that Yuri has always underestimated him for. He may be slighter than Yuri, but years of dancing and athletics have made him strong in ways that Yuri lacks.

 

The back of Yuri's knees hit the bed, and Meemo practically rips the jacket off of Yuri's shoulders, tossing it to the floor. Yuri's hand presses to Meemo's chest, stopping him in his tracks, breaking the kiss as Yuri looks down at him, eyes half lidded. "Keep... keep the tux on."

Meemo blinks at him slowly. It's a stupid request. The suits are expensive and they'll need to go back downstairs later, something they can't do if they soil them beyond appearance, "Do you want to ruin them?"

 

"We'll be ruining his sheets," Yuri suggests, fingers tugging at the waistband of Meemo's slacks. "Who gives a shit? Let all of those fuckers know."

 

Exhaling sharply, Meemo's cock stirs, sitting uncomfortably tight in his slacks. Nodding, he leans up to kiss Yuri again, speaking between presses of their lips. "Get on the bed."

 

Even Emmit's sheets feel expensive, soft and thick to keep the harsh Minnesotan cold away. 

 

Meemo straddles Yuri on the bed, sitting above him and looking down at him with that same old smirk on his face. 

 

Yuri flashes his teeth at him, hands settling on Meemo's hips as Meemo rolls down against him. 

 

Mutual groans leave their throats, layers of fabric creating a friction between them as Meemo tests it again, rolling his hips down once more.

 

"If we had more time," Meemo says, leaning over Yuri until his hands are pressed to the mattress, either side of his head. "I'd fuck you. Right here."

 

Yuri hates the fact that the thought of that makes his cock ache, hips rolling up to meet Meemo's. Being so... submissive and wanting something like that from a man is something he'd always considered disgusting, but Meemo had a way of making him want things he'd never wanted before. 

 

"I've thought about that," Yuri admits, hand moving between them, sliding between the open slit of Meemo's slacks and boxers. Hot, calloused fingers wrap around Meemo's cock, drawing a grunt from him, his eyes sliding shut as Yuri touches him. "About fucking you. About you fucking me."

 

Meemo's teeth graze across Yuri's bottom lip, his own hand moving between them, knuckles bumping against Yuri's own as he returns the favor. "As if I'd let you fuck me. You're the bitch here."

 

Yuri groans, fingers moving down the length of Meemo's shaft, pushing past the material that seems far too in the way on reflection. "I'm not a bitch, you asshole."

 

Meemo's thumb swipes across the head of Yuri's cock, already slick with pre-come, drawing a louder groan this time, guttural and raw from the back of his throat. Meemo huffs out a laugh, breath hitting Yuri's cheek. "You were saying?"

 

Yuri bites the tip of Meemo's tongue when he kisses him again, essentially silencing his teasing words. 

 

Meemo gives back as good as Yuri gives, hand gripping his wrist and pulling it away from him, pinning it hard against Emmit's sheets. He uses the hand on Yuri's cock to pull it out from his slacks, lets it rest against the front of Yuri's for now clean shirt.

 

Yuri wonders briefly what he's doing, eyes opening as Meemo pulls his mouth away. Craning his neck to look between them, Yuri watches as Meemo takes his own cock in his hand, shorter, but thicker than Yuri's own. 

 

Spitting into his palm, Meemo doesn't really care how gross it is. He holds Yuri's half lidded gaze, wraps his spit slick fingers around both of their cocks. A small groan slips by his lips, and Yuri echoes the sound, head falling back against Emmit's mattress.

 

It's almost embarrassing how much this gets to Yuri, a familiar coil of heat spreading throughout his abdomen as Meemo moves his fingers across them both, the hard, hot press of his cock against Yuri's sending him ever closer towards the edge. His suit is far too hot, his fingers tugging at his bow tie as Meemo leans down, lips pressing to the corner of his mouth. Meemo's nose nudges towards his ear as Yuri hisses out a few sharp, quick _'fuck's_ in Russian. 

 

The fingers pinning Yuri's wrists down move to his scalp, the weight familiar to Yuri from earlier on, when Meemo had applied the product in his hair. Meemo tugs his hair hard enough to elicit a _'fuck you'_ from Yuri, who's seemingly forgotten all English at this point. 

 

Meemo smirks, hot breath hitting the shell of Yuri's ear. He rolls his hips down with each drag and squeeze of his fingers, groaning as Yuri's cock twitches beneath his own. 

 

"Close," Yuri warns him, fingers balling up Emmit's sheets. He grunts as Meemo pulls his head back, fingers tugging hard against his scalp and he feels Meemo's mouth, warm and wet against his throat.

 

Meemo sucks against Yuri's heated skin, the bitter remnants of the cheap aftershave Yuri insists on wearing present on his tongue. 

 

Yuri's blunt nails dig at Meemo's biceps, grunting as he grips onto his tuxedo jacket. Tight heat spreads across Yuri's abdomen, and it's mere seconds until he's coming, hot and hard, spilling over Meemo's knuckles. 

 

It's enough to coax Meemo along as he sits back on his heels, hazy eyes watching Yuri's cock twitch beneath him. 

 

Yuri grips Meemo's thighs as Meemo drags his fingers through Yuri's come, slick and warm as he uses it to drag across his own cock, short, shallow breaths leaving him as Yuri watches him with a dazed expression.

 

Meemo follows shortly after, lips parted, holding Yuri's eye, groaning as he comes, in thick, hot ropes across Yuri's cock and stomach, staining his previously clean shirt.

 

It takes a moment for them to catch their breaths, Yuri's fingers loosening their grip on Meemo's thighs as Meemo wipes his hand across Emmit's sheets. 

 

It's gross, and probably stupid, but what the fuck is Emmit going to do about it? Go to the police over some jizz? Meemo can't help but let out a small, dark chuckle at the thought of it. 

 

Legs a little wobbly, he climbs off of an absolutely spent looking Yuri, who's returned to his disheveled look from earlier that night, from before Meemo had smartened him up for the party. 

 

Meemo somehow likes it more, watching as Yuri props himself up on his elbows and grins at him, eyes crinkling at the corners. He's ridiculously handsome, despite everything telling Meemo otherwise. Not that he'd ever fucking admit it, though.

 

"I'm gonna drag my balls across his pillows," Yuri announces, absolutely giddy at the idea of it. 

 

Meemo rolls his eyes at him, though he can't say it's not a bad idea. After all, he had just used Emmit's sheets as a rag for their come. Tucking himself away, Meemo walks across the room towards the windows, realising the curtains had been wide open. 

 

He wonders briefly if Emmit's valets could see in the room from where they're stood at the front gates, catching the girl who'd taken their car earlier's eye. She looks absolutely mortified to see him, and he simply smiles, raising a hand to wave at her as she ducks away. 

 

"I think people saw us," Meemo says, turning towards Yuri who's putting himself back into his slacks, stood besides Emmit's wife's pillow. "What if they saw us?"

 

"Who cares?" Yuri shrugs, zipping his slacks back up and tucking his spoiled shirt into them. Luckily, the material of the slacks covers whatever suspicious damp patches may be apparent. "It was your idea. Your problem if they saw us."

 

Meemo frowns, unamused by the blame shifting. "You agreed."

 

"Yes, after you seduced me in here," Yuri steps onto the bed, walks across it on his knees, rumpling the sheets up even further so Emmit knows for sure someone was in there. He stops in front of Meemo, who's stood at the foot of it, holding Yuri's jacket. "You are very sneaky. Taking advantage of people."

 

Yuri is practically at Meemo's height, kneeling on the bed, his head tilted to the side as he smirks, lips inching closer to Meemo's mouth. He's cut off by sudden darkness, Meemo having tossed his jacket over his head. 

 

"Shut up," Meemo says, running a hand through his own hair, smoothing it back into place. He adjusts his bow tie, buttons up his jacket and runs his fingers across any creases. He looks... presentable enough, not as well put together as before, but it'll do. "Come. There's still a party. He's probably wondering where we are."

 

Yuri pulls his jacket off his head, frowning as he shrugs it onto his shoulders. "You need to grow a sense of humour, my friend."

 

There's something uneasy about the _'friend'_ comment. He isn't sure of what exactly the nature of their relationship is now. He wasn't sure of what it was before. Neither of them were. 

 

Shrugging it off, Meemo tries not to think about it, or where they go from here. Instead, he opens the door and gestures for Yuri to follow him out, not bothering to tell him to tidy himself up better. 

 

\- - - 

 

The day after the party, Varga is discussing the events of it with them, gathering information on Emmit's state of mind and how exactly they'd intimidated him.

 

They leave out the obvious parts, Yuri telling them how they just mingled, danced and intimidated Emmit with vague threats. He can feel Meemo's eyes, boring into the back of his warm neck as he speaks, gesturing with a cigarette between his fingers as Varga nods, listening.

 

"Very good," Varga says when he's satisfied with all that he's heard. He moves across the truck, towards the computers. "I shan't be needing you much for these next few days. You can take a break. Do whatever it is you two like to get up to."

 

Meemo, who's stood leaning against the wall, earbuds in, meets Yuri's wordless eye, an unasked question on his lips. 

 

Their wordless exchange is interrupted when Varga's cellphone rings, and he picks it up, back turned to Yuri and Meemo. With a frown, Varga listens to the babbling words on the other end, before interrupting. "Emmit, dear, would you calm down and tell me exactly what the matter is?"

 

Yuri's eyes widen, and Meemo rolls onto his shoulder, poking his head around the corner to look at Varga, who turns slowly towards them with a frown. 

 

"No, of course they wouldn't..." Varga rolls his eyes, shaking his head. "They're not... you're being hysterical, dear. Honestly, it must have been another pair of guests."

 

A flood of relief washes through Yuri as he meets Meemo's eye again, face flushing hot at the familiar smirk that plays across Meemo's lips. 

 

When Varga's phone call is over, he lets out a long sigh, making his way towards where his coat is hung up on the wall. "Honestly, the things that man comes up with. I'm popping out. Maybe Mr. Stussy will listen to some reason face-to-face."

 

Yuri and Meemo nod as Varga leaves again, Yuri letting out a long sigh as the door shuts behind him.

 

Meemo pushes himself up and away from the wall, almost gliding towards Yuri with his lips curled up into a smirk. Yuri almost jumps when he feels a hand on his arm, Meemo's breath hitting the shell of his ear. "Remember what I said last night? About wanting to fuck you?"

 

Yuri swallows, turning his neck to the side. He leans back against Meemo's touch, lips stretching into a small smile. "And I told you, I'm not a bitch."

 

Meemo's arm circles Yuri's waist as he presses against him, rolling his hips against the back of his thighs. Yuri's eyes slide shut the the proximity, lips parting when Meemo's palm presses against the front of his tracksuit pants. His voice, low in Yuri's ear, sends a warm shiver throughout him. "Want to test that?"

**Author's Note:**

> I know little to nothing about technical terms when it comes to ballroom dancing, but I watched a few YouTube videos for help, lmao. This is meant to be set sometime after 3x05 and during 3x06, but it's not entirely accurate timeline wise. 
> 
> I almost titled this "It's Emmit's Party, And Meemo And Yuri Will Frot If They Want To", but figured that'd be too on the nose...


End file.
